


In threes

by slof



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Kisses, Light hearted fights, M/M, Marriage Proposal, idk TAGS, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27186343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slof/pseuds/slof
Summary: It took Matsukawa Issei a lot of time
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Kudos: 34
Collections: Matsuhana Fluff Week 2020





	In threes

**Author's Note:**

> Hands; proposal “I’ll always be here for you.”

For years and years, Seijoh’s unbreakable duo had been just that. Since their first year to their third, the two had been joined at the hip, connected at the pinky, linked in thought. Inseparable, many found the two to be. 

Even though they both met only in their first year, many compared them to the other set of third years in their class, Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime — two childhood friends who seemed to never be apart. People compared them even though they weren’t childhood friends; they didn’t attend the same middle school; they didn’t even know of each other before high school. The two had met that first year at Seijoh yet they were put on the same level as Tooru and Hajime. 

That always made the two feel good, individually holding their own feelings they didn’t know they shared mutually, and they'd hold onto those feelings for years. They knew their friends were in love just either ‘quiet’ about it or somehow unaware of each other’s feelings, and if they were balanced on the same scale, what did that mean for them?

Even though their feelings were mutual — even though they spent all that time with each other, it took three years for one of them to confess to the other.

It took thirty-six months; it took (roughly) one hundred fifty-six weeks; it took thousand and ninety-five days; it took twenty-six thousand two hundred eighty hours; it took one million, five hundred seventy-six thousand, eight hundred minutes; it took ninety-four million, six hundred eight thousand seconds.

It was a complete three years. The two had graduated, sitting on the floor of one of their houses as they filled out forms for college they would soon be getting into. The air conditioning was humming through the room, the low sound of the ceiling fan pushed the cool air around the room.

To them, the conversation they had felt like it was yesterday, no matter how much time continued to pass since it had happened.

“School starts tomorrow,” the light brown-haired one had brought up suddenly. He kept his eyes on the laptop in front of him, and even though he wasn’t writing anything down, a pencil twirled between his fingers. “For Seijoh, I mean.” He let out a sigh and dropped the pencil. Letting his head hang back, he leaned on his palms and stared up at the ceiling. “Remember our first orientation?”

The younger one chuckled, and he glanced up from his own laptop to his friend. His eyes scanned his face from what he could see, the jawline of the other, the cheeks that had started to get _slightly_ chubbier now that they didn’t do any physical activities like the volleyball club. 

“Yeah,” he responded. “Three years,” he mumbled.

“Huh?” The other craned his head to look at his friend. “Three years what?”

“Three years since we met.”

The light-haired one hummed. “I guess it is.” He chewed his lip. “We’re going to start college.”

“Mhm,” the dark curly-haired one nodded. 

“It’ll be hard to keep in contact.”

“Not unless we try.”

“You want to try?” 

“You don’t?”

“I do,” the light-haired one said. “I was just wondering if you wanted to.”

“You’re an idiot, you know?”

“So I’ve been told,” he said with a shrug. “But why this time?”

“Because,” the other said as he stood to his feet. He stretched, the shirt lifting up a little as he groaned. As he walked by the other, he reached down and ran his fingers through their light brown hair, watching as the copper-ish shade slipped through his fingers. “Been in love with you since our first year. Why wouldn’t I?” The other’s head was moved back, and he kept his eyes on him as he walked to the door. His lips slightly parted upon hearing his words, and he froze as his head was tilted back to stare. “Want anything from the kitchen?” The taller one asked as he had a hand on the door.

“Uh.” He was frozen for a bit, trying to process what his friend had said and played off as if it wasn’t a confession. “Water,” he said. 

“Mkay,” he tapped the doorway with his fingertips, “be right back.”

The other had sat there for a few minutes after he had left the room. Thinking. Previewing over the last _thirty-six months_ of his life. 

“Oh,” he said quietly to himself. “ _Oh_ ,” he said a little louder that time, his eyes widening. With the realization hitting him, he rushed into the kitchen. They locked eyes when the other had stopped in the doorway, staring at the other as he was at the sink filling cups of water. “Matsukawa, wait, what did you say?”

“I asked you if you wanted anything from the kitchen.”

For playing stupid, he wanted to slap him. There was a smirk on his face, a curve at his lips. He walked up to him and grabbed the collar of his shirt, tugging him down a little. They didn’t say anything. Instead, they stared at each other. Both of them were almost on the same page. 

The shorter one brought him up to speed, and he kissed him then. 

A committed relationship got them through college together. They did video calls, and they sent texts, and they met up whenever they could. The time spent without each other only made the times they met up feel like so much more. 

After spending those _(roughly) hundred and fifty-six weeks_ with each other in high school, the sudden separation and the pressure of college felt like too much without the other. 

  
  


_“Issei.”_

The way that he breathed out his given name made the other’s skin crawl. It was a shuddered breath, light and higher than usual, a tone of fear in it that made the other worry. 

“Takahiro?” Issei answered.

_“You’re not busy, right?”_

“It’s ten at night.”

Takahiro sighed. _“You’re right. Sorry.”_

“No,” Issei quickly said. He sat up in his seat, scratching the side of his face with his other hand before he pushed his school work further on his desk. “What’s up?”

_“Can you come here? I know it’s a few hours out. I’ll meet you halfway.”_

“Yeah,” Issei said. He didn’t question it. Instead, he jumped to grab his jacket from the hooks by the door and slipped it on. “Where are we meeting up?”

_“That um,”_ Takahiro paused on the other end, _“outside of that bakery we used to go to all the time.”_

“I’ll be there.”

  
  


Issei didn’t realize how fast he had run out the door or hopped on the train. The way that his knee bounced was subconscious to him, and he only realized he was doing it when an old man had given him a glare.

Takahiro was sitting outside the closed bakery when Issei had gotten there at one in the morning. The entire time Takahiro was waiting there, it felt like longer. Each hour he sat there felt like a year — _twenty-six thousand two hundred eighty hours._

He sprung up when he noticed Issei coming toward him, and he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around him and bury his face into him. There was a small sob that came from him, but he hiccuped it back, biting his tongue as his fingers bunched in Issei’s jacket. Issei rubbed his back soothingly, up and down, slow just the way that he knew calmed the other down. 

After a few minutes, Takahiro’s breathing was back to normal. He only had the occasional sniff here and there.

“What happened, Takahiro?” Issei softly asked. 

“I quit.”

“Quit?”

Takahiro pulled his face away so he could look at Issei. “I dropped out,” he mumbled. “I couldn’t do it. It’s just — Issei, everything was _so_ much, and I didn’t realize it would be that hard, and I’m so sorry but I tried but I just couldn’t do it—“

“Shh,” Issei hushed him. He brushed aside the bangs that were starting to get too long. “It’s okay.” Issei leaned forward and kissed the tip of Takahiro’s nose. “It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Takahiro muttered in guilt. “You’ve been working so hard, and I’m just—“ he shook his head. “Yeah.”

“No,” Issei spoke, lifting Takahiro’s chin. “I love you, and it really doesn’t matter to me, okay? Like, at all. I could care less.” He rubbed his thumb back and forth and found himself smiling. “As long as you’re okay.”

For the first time that night, Takahiro smiled, and he nodded. The grip he had on the back of Issei’s jacket was tighter.

“I have another question.”

“Go ahead.”

“You know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

“Like, I’d die for you.”

Issei nodded.

“Like, I’d do literally anything for you.”

“Takahiro.”

“Okay,” Takahiro quickly said. “Sorry.” He took a deep breath. “You know how we’re not like super _super_ grossly romantic? Like, you sometimes can do some really cute, disgustingly sweet things because you're _totally_ a closed-romantic but I really _really_ do love everything you do, but for the most part, we joke around more than we show affection. Like, we’re more action than words?”

“Mm-hmm.” To show just how right Takahiro was, Issei put his hands on Takahiro’s sides. His thumbs soothed on his hips, and Takahiro felt himself calming down little by little. “Get it out, Hiro.”

“Can I move in? With you, I mean,” he mumbled. Takahiro felt selfish about asking it. He just quit college, and he didn’t have a stable job — he didn’t have a job at all. It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand that. Takahiro made an effort to work with him. For the past week that he had been thinking about dropping out, he had been looking for jobs near Issei. 

“Yeah,” Issei said without skipping a heartbeat. “Yeah, of course.”

“You’re sure?” Takahiro’s voice was small. It had been quiet the whole time. Issei wasn't a fan of that. “You live in a dorm though.”

“We’ll find a place.”

“The cost—“

Issei grabbed his face and lifted it. “It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t care.” He grabbed Takahiro’s hand and laced his fingers through his. “Come on. Let’s go back to my place and we can figure out things in the morning.”

Takahiro nodded, and in silence, he followed. 

  
  


_A million five hundred seventy-six, eight hundred minutes_ moved in, and the two were still two cherries on the same stem. 

Takahiro had always found a stable enough job to work but they only lasted around three months at a time. On Issei’s side of the story, he went through and graduated from college. After that, he picked up a job at the funeral home which was only a goldmine for Takahiro to make jokes and puns at any time that he could wiggle them in.

Looking for another job on the couch of their apartment, Takahiro had a newspaper in his hands and his feet kicked up on the coffee table. He flipped through it, scanning through all the possible occupation opportunities he could try — tried to find ones he hadn’t already done if that was possible. 

The front door opened, and the tired worker walked in, pulling the tie at his neck as he made his way into the living room. He sat on the couch and let his head rest on the other’s shoulder. With one eye open, he peeked at the newspaper his boyfriend had. 

“Looking?”

“Yup. Once again.”

“Mhm,” Issei hummed. “How was your day?”

“Well, I’m not _dead_ yet so I’m doing something right.”

“Your jokes are old,” Issei muttered. Takahiro laughed to himself, and he turned his head to kiss the top of Issei’s head.

“Ew,” he said, reaching up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Go wash your hair though.”

“Huh?” Issei sat up and ran his fingers through it. 

“Greasy.”

“You wash it.”

“Okay.”

Takahiro leaned forward on the couch and grabbed his cup of water he had. He turned to Issei. Without giving him a second to process what was happening, he lifted it over the other’s head and flipped the cup upside down, pouring the water all over him. 

“We’re missing soap,” Takahiro said, fighting back a laugh as he watched Issei sit up even straighter at the sudden cold water poured all over him. 

“You have got to be kidding.”

“Your hair isn’t going to get clean without soap, Issei. That’s just now how it works.”

Issei pushed him back on the couch, pinning his hands above him. He leaned over him, letting his wet hair drip down and hit Takahiro in the face.

“Hey, wait, Issei—“ Takahiro squirmed around, trying to kick his feet up to wiggle from Issei's grasp. He was too strong, which was insane to think about. The fact he could pin him down with one hand and Takahiro couldn’t do anything. It was probably from helping lift coffins all day. “Let go.”

Instead, Issei let his head drop and hang above him, the soaked hair dropping water right on Takahiro’s face. The former Seijoh do-it-all suddenly couldn't do anything but turn his head away to stop it from getting in his eye, or worse: his mouth. He struggled some more, hitting his knee into Issei’s back which only bumped him a little forward and caused more water to land on the other.

“Okay, I get it, I get it! I’m sorry!” Takahiro said with a laugh, and he wrapped his arms around Issei’s neck. He pulled him down to his chest, and the other let himself collapse on top of him. As he was sandwiched between his boyfriend and the couch, he let out a groan from the heavy weight that felt like an anvil that laid on top of him. He could handle it though. Takahiro wasn’t _that_ weak. 

He reached his hand up, moving his fingers through the dark curls no matter how gross and wet they were. “Hey,” Takahiro said softly after a minute or two of them laying there. Issei’s breathing had slowed down, and he laid on top of Takahiro half-awake, almost falling asleep on the comfort of his boyfriend-made body pillow. “You should go and find some nice, clean clothes, and I’ll get a bath ready for you.”

“Will you wash my hair?” Issei asked, muffled by Takahiro’s chest. 

Takahiro laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I will.”

That night, Issei laid in a bath filled with bubbles with his head on the bathtub edge supported with a towel. Takahiro always added bubbles having done it the first time and kept note to how much Issei dragged his fingers through them during and smiled to himself. He sat on a small stool by the edge of the tub, giving Issei a well-deserved scalp massage. Since he was so generous, and deeply in love with the other, he gave him a shoulder massage and kissed his cheek where it was free of soap.

The calm and tender care of the night didn’t last too long, not when Issei got his hands on a cup. Without Takahiro realizing it, the other had dunked the cup under water and dumped it on Takahiro’s head so fast he didn’t know what happened at first. 

The other’s hands left Issei’s hair, and he sat up straight, holding his hands out as he blinked a few times. As water trailed down his face, he shut one of his eyes to stop any from getting in before he glared down at Issei. 

With his head tilted back, Issei grinned. “Payback,” he said.

Takahiro took a deep breath, and he let out a sigh as he shook his head. He grabbed a towel nearby and wiped off his face before setting it on his hair.

“I’m going to drown you,” Takahiro said.

“Are you going to drown with me?” Takahiro shook his head, a smile stretching his face as he put his hands on the sides of Issei’s head, tilted it back, and leaned down to kiss him.

  
  


After that day of clothes soaked in water and kisses tasting like soap, they sat in a tree in a field with tall grass, other smaller trees, and an array of colorful flowers. _Ninety-four million, six hundred eight thousand seconds_ since that day of a tiring job and job searching and a messy bathroom. 

  
Takahiro swung his feet as he sat on one of the sturdier branches, staring off at the horizon where the sun was slowly setting. Issei took the two of them out there, and below the cream puff lover, his boyfriend was laying a blanket over a section of trimmed grass. 

“Come on, Hiro,” Issei called up. He looked up at him, and Takahiro looked down.

“You come up.”

“You really think that branch can hold both of us?”

  
Takahiro smiled. “Are you calling us fat?” With a chuckle, Issei shook his head. He tapped his pocket in a way that Takahiro wouldn’t notice, a hollow noise coming from the box in his pocket. Hollow, but not empty. There was definitely something in there, and with the nervousness stewing in Issei, he wished it was empty. He wished that he didn’t have to ask this. Takahiro should be able to read him by now to know what he wanted to ask.

They should be close enough to where he didn’t have to ask.

Though it wasn’t like that, and with a sigh to prepare himself, Issei climbed the tree. 

They were almost thirty years old and climbing trees.

Issei leaned himself against the trunk of the tree, using it to balance himself. He was never good at tree climbing, like when in their first year Takahiro had dragged them out _here_ those nine years ago and climbed the tree. Issei had watched him, the way that he quickly moved up the tree and sat on it. He had looked down at Issei and told him to hurry it up. The dark-haired one had taken a deep breath before trying, and he had taken an even deeper breath when he had fallen and failed.

Takahiro had laughed at him that day, and the sound of his laugh seemed to lift Issei to his feet as he stood up from the ground. The other hopped down the tree after that to help him. 

Though now they sat in the tree together, no struggles, staring at the orange and pink sky further out. Takahiro still had his eyes glued on the sky, that was until his view gazed down.

“I like the way that the flowers look when the lighting is like this,” Takahiro quietly said. “The vibrant colors really pop, and I feel like they glow enough to brighten the darker flowers.”

“I love your mind,” Issei found himself saying. 

It was a familiar line.

Oh, yeah.

  
  


_“I love your mind,” Issei accidentally blurted out. The fifteen-year-old Hanamaki Takahiro looked over at Issei. He blinked a few times, his face had pink cheeks that had matched his choice of bright pink for his hair color at the time. Instead of stuttering words like, ‘what did you say?’ or ‘you love_ what _?’, Takahiro laughed, and he held onto the branch so he didn’t fall._

_“Are you just hanging out with me for my sexy mind?” Takahiro asked with a cocky grin._

_“Of course,” Issei responded with._

  
  


He had said the same thing all those years ago. 

Things didn’t change. They never did. Not with them.

It seemed Takahiro remembered because he looked over at Issei and grinned.

“You’re still with me for my sexy mind?” He asked.

“Of course, but for how long are you allowing me?” Issei asked. His heart started to race. He knew Takahiro wouldn’t turn him down, but what if he did? Takahiro didn’t look over at him. Instead, he lifted his gaze from the flowers back to the sunset. 

“How long do you want to?” Takahiro asked.

“Forever.” The straightforward response stole Takahiro’s eyes, and he finally turned his head to look at the other leaned against the tree. His feet stopped swinging, his eyebrows lifted slightly, there was now a small part between his lips. He watched as Issei dug in his pocket and pulled out the small box. “If you want,” Issei added on.

“You—” Takahiro stuttered. For the first time, he stuttered. “You brought me out to a tree that we’ve been going to since our first year — for the reason I can only assume to be apart of your sappy, closeted-romantic self — to propose to me?”

“I’m trying to, yeah.” Issei flicked open the box. It was probably the one time he didn’t trick Takahiro with a nice jewelry box and replaced it with something stupid like a ring pop or a candy necklace. The ring was real, and when Issei turned it to show Takahiro, the remainder of the sun that was out hit the gem for just a second. 

Takahiro’s breath was caught in his throat. Slowly, he tossed his leg over the branch and carefully scooted closer, peering over into the box.

“I’m dreaming,” he mumbled. Issei scoffed, and he reached forward, grabbing ahold of Takahiro’s cheek and pinching it. “Ow!”

“Not dreaming,” Issei said. He picked out the ring and twirled it between his fingers, rolling it around to show it off. 

It was expensive. He _should_ show it off. 

It was beautiful. He _had_ to show it off.

“So,” Issei began to say. He felt himself sweating despite how cold it was with the sun basically set, the moon beginning to peak out. “Should I put the ring away and stop embarrassing myself or—”

“Put the fucking ring on my finger and kiss me right now.” Takahiro stuck out his hand. Issei smiled, grabbing his wrist and staring down at his hand. His hands were always so soft, beautiful, and he swore that he had been wanting to do this since day one.

He slid the ring on the other's ring finger. The perfect fit. 

Takahiro stared down at it. He held his own finger and pinched the sides of the ring, twisting it around, feeling the metal wrapped (finally) around his finger.

“Hey.” Takahiro snapped his eyes up. The quick movement made him notice how wet they were, the small stream of a tear that slipped from the corner of his eye down his cheek. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and made eye contact with Issei. “You know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” Issei asked, leaning closer. His breath hit the other’s lips, and Takahiro shuddered his shoulders in a chill. 

“How long?”

“Nine years.” He put a hand on the other's cheek. "Because no matter what we go through, I'll always be here for you." Takahiro was struck silent, a shuddering breath escaping him, a hiccup in the back of his throat that he bit back quite literally on the skin of his teeth.

And Issei kissed Takahiro, a thumb swiping away another tear that trailed down.

  
  


It took Matsukawa Issei nine years to propose to Hanamaki Takahiro. 

After the thirty-six months of high school.

After the (roughly) a hundred fifty-six weeks of living with each other at first. 

After the one thousand and ninety-five days that took them to that night in the tree that brought back laughter, tears, nostalgic memories, and now, the even bigger memory of kisses and a proposal. 

Twenty-six thousand two hundred eighty hours _plus_ one million, five hundred seventy-six thousand, eight hundred minutes _plus_ ninety-four million, six hundred eight thousand seconds.

  
It took Matsukawa Issei nine years to propose to _Matsukawa_ Takahiro.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter @mattsuhana
> 
> The number 3 because Hanamaki is the number 3 wow I'm so creative and cool stan me
> 
> HAPPY ENDING OF FLUFF WEEK THOUGH. WOO YEAH WOOWOO YEAH


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